The lock clicked. A team member looked up at the Captain and gave him a thumbs up sign.

“We’re in,” Captain Russell said. “Everyone fall in line. Standard two by two formation, eyes in the back of your heads, people. I don’t want any chances.”

Hammond put his hand on the front door and creaked it open. Slowly, he walked in with gun drawn. A joint task force followed consisting of Russell’s SWAT team, FBI agents, and Sheriff’s deputies followed. They were all clad in state of the art helmets and body armor. They also carried high grade firepower, including machine and shot guns.

The task force entered the kitchen.

“Clear,” Hammond said.

They made their way into the sitting room.

“Clear,” Hammond said.

“Something’s not right,” Captain Russell said. “I can feel it in my bones.”

The task force moved down the hallway, clearing several rooms along the way. Finally, their noses caught a whiff of a disturbing stench coming from the bathroom.

“I think we found him,” Captain Russell whispered. “Shit, what the hell did he eat?”

“Potato chips mostly,” came the grim voice of Buford from within the bathroom. “Full of saturated fats and high in sodium and cholesterol. Everything a growing boy needs.”

The task force stacked up, taking positions on either side of the bathroom. Hammond took a spot just to the left of the door.

“Buford?” Hammond asked.
“Hello Sheriff,” Buford said in a depressed tone. “So lovely that you have come to visit me but I must confess, now is not a good time.”

“We just want to talk to you, son,” Hammond said.

Buford sighed, then laughed maniacally. Soon, he simmered down and he spoke as though he were in the midst of a funk again. “Oh, you are a card, Sheriff. I’m sorry, but I’m not much of a conversationalist.”

“Son,” Hammond said. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way…”

“Sheriff,” Buford said. “I feel a desperate urge to warn you and your assorted constables to go back the way you came. Otherwise, I can’t be held responsible for what happens next.”

“You armed Buford?” Hammond asked. “Just throw it down and slide it out here and you won’t be hurt when we come in. You have my word.”

“Oh, I’m not armed,” Buford said.

A low rumble emanated its way out of the bathroom. Russell and Hammond looked at each other, their minds clearly clutched in the grip of fear as the floor began to shake.

“My associate, on the other hand, is armed to the teeth, you might say,” Buford said. “He’s packing roughly eighty razor sharp teeth in his mouth, to be exact.”

Hammond peered around the corner to find the unsavory sight of Buford sitting on the pot with his pants down.

Buford looked at the Sherif and cocked his head to the side. “Oh, I’m sorry Sheriff, but my big green friend would not like that very much, you see. Oh no, he would not like that at all.”

“It’s a trap,” Russell said. “Everyone! Fall back!”

Hammond held up his hand. “No! I got this.”

The Sheriff holstered his weapon and stepped into the bathroom with his hands up. “Now look, son, I’m unarmed. I’m not here to hurt you. I just want to…”

“RAARGA!”

The toilet exploded as Skippy crashed through the floor and crushed Buford between his jaws. It only took three chomps for the beast to swallow his longtime companion whole. Most of Buford was in the alligator’s belly now, except for the parts that covered the walls, the floor, the ceiling and even Hammond’s face.

Hammond lost control of his bodily functions. A stream of urine poured down his leg as he stepped backward. “Fuh—fuh—fuh—fall back.”

Out in the hallway, Captain Russell watched as the gator’s mighty jaws snapped Hammond in two.

“Too late!” Russell shouted as he pumped a shotgun blast into the gator’s face. “Open fire!”